


Counter Proposal

by freshfuckinpot



Series: Dave/Link [2]
Category: Foo Fighters, Rhett & Link
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Butt Plugs, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Polyamory, Pregnancy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 00:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17193419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshfuckinpot/pseuds/freshfuckinpot
Summary: They’re back-to-chest, and Link is nearly bent over his kitchen counter, and Dave leans in close, murmurs a low, “Do you want people to know we’re sleeping together?”





	Counter Proposal

“How’s the boyfriend?” 

The way he says it makes something in Link’s stomach flutter for a second. It’s not jealousy in his voice, not quite; but, it’s not far off from jealousy. It curls at the edges, twists just a bit even though he’s grinning, putting on that feminine voice he does when he’s feeling playful. 

Link just shakes his head. He looks at Rhett over the brim of his sunglasses, points at him with the straw in his cup, and says, “Not my boyfriend.” 

“Sure,” Rhett teases. And he’s plopping down in the seat across from Link, phone and keys landing on the table next to the smoothie Link had gotten him. He takes a sip and looks at Link expectantly, as if he’s really waiting on an answer. 

Link laughs, puts his cup down. “Dave is fine, probably. I haven’t talked to him in a few days.” 

Rhett’s on a roll today, his mouth working hard not to smile when he says, “Trouble in paradise?” 

“You jealous or something, man?” Because it’s shaping up to be that way, his words twisting around themselves until Link’s not sure he can even untangle them at this point. “Are you feeling neglected?” 

Rhett balls up his straw paper, throws it at Link, and ignores the question entirely. “He invited you to that thing, didn’t he?” 

“The barbeque thing? Yeah, but I ain’t going, man,” Link scoffs. It’s a little too intimate for his taste. A little too uncomfortable, to be entangled in Dave’s personal life like that, this early into a friendship. He’d rattled off a list of names he clearly thought Link would recognize of people who were going to that thing, and Link had bristled when he only knew Dave’s wife’s name out of all of them. 

In his defense, he’s not a  _ fan _ . He’s not  _ not  _ a fan, just--

There’s a fan, and then there’s a  _ fan _ . 

He’s a fan of Dave’s, certainly. He enjoys Dave’s music, has enjoyed things he’s done in the past, just not in a way that would lead to him knowing the names of his employees. Or his band mates, really. 

He’s done research since then, spent a few hours watching some interviews and reading up on things. He’s educated himself, and it’s maybe a little unsettling when he thinks of it that way. It’s just a little strange having Dave Grohl in your life and not knowing much about him besides the stuff that everyone in the world knows about him. And maybe some other things that not so many people know about him. So, really, it was more of a way to not look like an idiot in front of Dave. 

It wasn’t in a creepy way at all, he swears. 

He totally didn’t watch that one music video he did with Jack Black and jerk off to a still of Dave in lingerie, wig and all, legs spread obscenely. 

He didn’t. 

He promises. 

Rhett says, “Why aren’t you going?” and Link bristles a little, because how does he word something like this?

He hums, furrows his brow, and tries to formulate the most concise sentence he can without sounding like a creep. What he settles on is, “Because I’m the guy who’s fucking him.” 

“Right,” Rhett says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re also the guy he invited to a party.” 

“I don’t know anyone who’s gonna be there,” Link counters. “And I don’t want to stand around feeling like the guy who’s fucking him.” 

Rhett takes a pointed sip of his drink, lips pursed dramatically around his straw as he hums in thought. After an exaggerated smack of his lips, he tells Link, “I think you should go. It would be rude not to.” 

“Do you want me to see if he’ll let you come, too?” 

“That would be weird,” Rhett says, point blank, and Link wonders what he’s getting at with all of this. “You’re the guy who’s fucking him, at least. I’d be the weirdo schmoozing with the celebrities.” 

“You act like that’s not how they’re gonna see me too, dude,” Link laughs. “They don’t know anything about me!” 

“But they trust Dave,” Rhett argues. “Plus, I highly doubt he’s gonna introduce you as his booty call, Link.” 

That’s a fair point, now that it’s verbalized and out there in the universe. Still, Link thinks he’d feel more comfortable if someone else was there with him, just so that he doesn’t look like the loner, the guy just hanging around for no reason. 

“I’ll think about it,” he settles on, and Rhett nods, shrugs his shoulders. 

“It’s not my feelings you’ll be hurting if you don’t go.” 

\--

He decides not to go. 

It’s just not something he’s comfortable with. Also, the conversation with Rhett left him feeling weird about the whole thing. He’s never done this sort of thing before. 

When he and Christy opened their marriage, this isn’t exactly what he pictured it being like. Coming to a common agreement that they both had a right to be their own person and make their own decisions as long as it was healthy and honest and consensual so far has meant a couple nights where he makes out with a friend. And on a couple of rare occasions, a threesome. 

But this is-- 

This is something entirely different. 

This is four nights of hooking up. This is Dave texting him almost daily, inviting him places, sending him pictures. This is a genuine friendship, and it’s intimidating because it’s got the potential of being something else later down the line. 

The jokes are there, and he almost doesn’t flinch at them anymore. He almost feels normal about it all. He’s  _ almost  _ comfortable with the idea of this being a steadier thing between them. 

So he doesn’t want to go to this party at Dave’s house and find himself in a situation he isn’t ready for. Especially without knowing what any of these people know about him. Who knows what Dave has said, how he’s described this thing to them? What if he accidentally says something he isn’t supposed to? 

For now, he’ll stick to casual hookups until they get to a point where talking is necessary. 

It doesn’t stop Dave from telling him that he’s bringing him food, then, to fucking deal with it because Link has never eaten brisket this good in his life, he  _ promises _ . 

And Link laughs, says, “You’re going to deliver it to me personally?” 

“Yeah, man,” Dave tells him. “I’ll Uber it over to you.”

“How romantic,” Link jokes. He blanches, for just a second, because he’s feeling weird about everything thanks to Rhett. 

Dave doesn’t miss a beat, laughing too loudly, and telling Link, “I’ll bring you some of my meat, baby,” in an absolutely ridiculous voice, lisped and lilting up in all the right places. 

\--

The kids end up all being out of the house, that night. It’s just Link and Christy, and she’s made plans with friends that suspiciously start around the same time Dave said he’d be coming over. Link doesn’t miss the way her eyes light up mischievously when she tells him, but he lets it slide this time mostly because his stomach flips at the implications. 

It doesn’t stop him from telling her she doesn’t have to leave, that Dave is just coming drop food off to him. All he gets in response is a nod and a smile and a, “Sure, Link.” 

He helps her get dressed, hands her makeup brushes from her bag while he sits on the toilet and watches. They talk about everything, and he feels better about it when she says, “Link, you don’t have to rush any of this. Just have fun with it, baby.” 

They’re eating grapes in the kitchen when the doorbell rings, and Christy leans forward to press her mouth to his before she’s grinning and pushing him away, towards the front of the house. He wipes away the lipstick that’s most definitely there with the back of his hand on the way to the door. 

Nervous energy has his hands shaking, his mind racing, and he feels like maybe he should have put on different clothes, his sweatpants and t-shirt feeling inadequate. But then he opens the door and Dave is smiling at him from his glasses, in his holey shirt that smells like charcoal and a pair of old, faded jeans in rougher shape than that. He looks good, a little glazed, relaxed and happy and holding three containers in his hands. 

There’s a bottle tucked under his arm, and Link should have seen this coming, really. 

“Do you bring a party with you everywhere you go?” he asks, unable to help himself from grinning like an idiot. 

“Fuck yeah,” Dave tells him. “Am I staying to party with you?” It’s straightforward, and Link is nodding before he even thinks about it. 

After a beat, he steps out of the way to let Dave in, and feels himself blush a little with the adrenaline. It’s so silly. He feels so silly. They’ve seen each other a handful of times at this point, but fucking Rhett had to get under his skin. 

Christy is in the kitchen, still. 

He’s unraveling at the seams a little bit at the idea of them meeting now. It’s not fair, because he’s met Jordyn, and it’s not a big deal. It’s nothing at all, and Link tries to remember that as they walk to the kitchen, Dave talking proudly about his grill and his sauce and how much everyone ate. 

And Link focuses on that energy, on how happy it makes him to see Dave so happy, and then on the way Christy’s face lights up when they walk into the kitchen. She very politely says, “Hey! Let me take those from you.” 

And Dave says, “You must be Christy,” as he hands off the containers to her. He places the bottle under his arm on the counter and Link notices it’s whiskey. 

Once the food is put away, Christy turns and offers her hand to him, telling him, “I am, and you are most certainly welcome any time at all if you’re going to bring us food that smells that good every time you come.” 

“Oh, you’re a woman after my own heart,” Dave teases, and he pulls her into a quick hug, so unabashed about himself, about all of this. 

When they pull away, Christy says, “It was lovely meeting you, Dave. My ride’s here, but y’all have a good night.” 

He doesn’t miss how Dave’s eyes linger as Christy walks towards Link. They lock eyes for just a second and Dave winks at him before busying himself with pulling his phone out of his pocket. It settles in his stomach hotly, leaves him just a little shaky as he kisses his wife goodbye. 

She smacks his ass on her way out, and Dave, once she’s out of earshot, says, “She could have stayed.” He’s grinning, lewd and curious as to how far he can go with this. 

But Link just shakes his head with a laugh. “You’ll have to talk to her about that.” 

Dave hums, still grinning, so very obviously proud of himself. Link takes him in for a second, rakes his eyes over the expanse of him just to say he did, and then he’s turning to dig through his cabinets for glasses. 

“I missed you today,” Dave says, matter of fact, as he uncovers the containers he brought. As Link is turning around, two glasses in hand, Dave is shoving a piece of brisket into his mouth. 

Link works on pouring them both some whiskey, working out an answer in his head as Dave eats. And then there’s a piece of meat being held out to him, and before he thinks, he’s opening his mouth to be fed. Dave doesn’t skip a beat, feeding Link, the very tips of his fingers grazing Link’s teeth as he does. 

Around his mouthful, Link says, “I’m sorry I didn’t come.” 

“It’s alright,” Dave promises. “This was just better when it was hot.” 

“I don’t know,” Link teases, “I think it’s pretty damn good like this.” And he opens his mouth again, fingers still around the neck of the whiskey bottle. 

Dave presses in a little closer this time, a bigger piece of brisket between his fingers, and he hums in the back of his throat as he feeds Link again. They’re nearly pressed together, knees brushing, and Link focuses on actually pouring them drinks as he chews before he loses his cool. Dave licks his fingers and Link tries hard not to watch, to keep his hands steady so he doesn’t make a mess. 

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” 

The question catches him off-guard, and he’s got a mouth full of food that he has to work through as he’s shaking his head and pouring whiskey before he can even verbalize the loud, insistent, “No!” 

He almost chokes, but he catches himself before he does and Dave is watching him with soft eyes, stealing the glass from the counter as he waits for Link to continue. 

“No way,” Link tells him. “I’m just-- I’m bad with crowds.” It’s very nearly a cop-out, but Dave just hums patiently. “I’m sorry I didn’t come today. I didn’t want to be there around all your friends and just be the guy you’re sleeping with.” 

“I’ve slept with at least two of them, too, if that helps,” Dave tells him, and he’s smiling, downing the last little bit of whiskey he’s got left in his glass before he takes the bottle from Link, gets directly in his space as he pours more for himself. While he’s at it, he pours some for Link as well, since he never managed to get to it. And then he’s crowding in again, stepping behind Link, pressing his thigh between his legs. 

They’re back-to-chest, and Link is nearly bent over his kitchen counter, and Dave leans in close, murmurs a low, “Do you want people to know we’re sleeping together?” 

Hands come around on either side of Link, the leg between his own encouraging his to spread, and when they do, encouraging still until there’s a hand on his thigh; and he gets the message, lifting his leg up until his knee is on the counter and Dave is pressing in impossibly closer. 

Link can hear his own panting, his own pulse in his head, and through it all, he hears Dave ask, “Do you want everyone to know I can get you to spread your fucking legs for me anywhere I want? Want all my friends to know you’re so easy?” 

And Link says, “No, I want--” but it falls short when he feels the line of Dave’s cock against his ass. 

“No? Tell me, Link.” There’s just a moment for Link to catch his breath before Dave is moving his hand to slip into the waistband of his sweatpants, cupping him through his underwear for just a beat before he’s tugging them down, wriggling them off Link’s hips. Faintly, Link hears him undoing his jeans, no doubt getting them down around his thighs. 

The words are on the tip of Link’s tongue, but he can’t get them out, the embarrassment thick and heavy in his stomach. It’s made worse when Dave’s fingers hook in the back of his briefs, tug them down just enough to get his cock pressed into the crack of Link’s ass. 

“Tell me,” Dave says again, a little more insistent, firmer and meaner and he’s moving his free hand, only for it to find its way to Dave’s own cock after a second, leaving Link’s skin wet. When he realizes what Dave’s doing, Link groans thickly. 

It takes one thrust of Dave’s hips, the slick feeling of his cock rubbing at Link’s skin for him to choke on a sob and say, “I want-- fuck, Dave, I want people to think we’re dating.” 

It sounds silly, even to his own ears, too juvenile, ridiculous and simple and he’s waiting for Dave to laugh. But he doesn’t. He just keeps moving, his hips rocking up, his free hand coming around to wrap around the base of Link’s cock, in what Link supposes is a reward. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and there’s amusement in his voice, but it isn’t cruel like Link thought it would be. “Shit, Link, next time I have friends over, you want to make out in front of them? Sit on my fucking lap at the table?” His voice is low and sweet and curling right in the base of Link’s spine, too hot, too much. 

When Link’s hips rock up, Dave chuckles, gets the hint. And it’s not until he’s talking again that he starts jerking Link off, saying, “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want my friends to think I take you home and make love to you in our bed. You want them to ask when I’m going to get a ring, if I knocked you up yet.” 

And Link-- God, fuck, it twists up hotly inside him, and he’s crying before he even realizes it, mouth opening around a moan, hips working up desperately, his cheeks wet.  

He nods, says, “Yes, fuck-- Oh, gosh, Dave. Please.” 

“Oh, did I find something new for you?” he’s laughing just a little now, and Link doesn’t even care, because he feels like his nerves are singing. “Do you want me to put a baby in you, Link?” 

He comes. 

Just like that, no preamble, just a sharp gasp and his hips slamming forward before he’s coming all over his fucking countertop. He sinks back down with a groan, his body relaxing into the feeling as he comes down, and he barely registers that Dave is murmuring still, praise and thanks and anything else that’s coming to mind, his hand having slipped away from Link’s cock to squeeze at his hip instead. 

“Gosh,” Link says, a little breathy, a little in shock. “Fuck.” 

He can’t stay in this position much longer, his legs starting to ache, so he scrambles off the counter, gets on his knees in front of Dave, his hands flying up to rest on Dave’s thighs. They’re almost perfectly in sync, Link opening his mouth and Dave guiding his cock between his lips. 

Dave’s hands find their way to the back of Link’s head, and he holds him in place as his hips rock forward, slow and easy and mindful of Link’s gag reflex. Even still, there’s drool pooling out of his mouth, his eyes watering, though he can’t be sure if they’re wet still or again. He takes whatever Dave wants to give him, the wet sounds of Dave fucking his mouth filling his head. 

It sends a full-bodied shiver through him, and he hums around Dave, fingers digging into his thighs. 

“Oh, fuck,” Dave groans. He pulls out, moving one hand so he can jerk himself off the rest of the way, coming in hot lines across Link’s face. It’s obscene and disgusting and Christy is going to be pissed if she finds out they did this in the kitchen. 

But Link can’t find it in him to care, every inch of his body tingling and content. From the floor, he watches Dave catch his breath, the fingers still in his hair flexing rhythmically. When he starts to laugh, Dave catches his eye, chuckles right along with him as he tucks himself away, readjusts his clothes. 

And then he’s murmuring, “Come here,” as he encourages Link forward with a hand to the back of his head. Link’s unsure where he’s going with this, but follows along until Dave is wiping at his face with the bottom of his shirt, soft and kind and a little more than a little gross. 

“That’s nasty, man,” Link says, groaning as he stands. His knees hurt, but it was more than worth it. 

“Would you rather have my jizz all over your face still?” Dave asks, moving to dig through drawers, no doubt in search of towels. 

Link, with a snort, opens the cabinet to his left and tosses an old cleaning rag at him. “No, but now you’ll have to borrow a shirt.” 

“Oh no,” Dave deadpans, and Link reaches over to thump him on the chest with the back of his hand. 

A little dazed, his throat a bit sore, Link watches Dave use the cleaner under the sink to wipe the counter down. He’s maybe coming down from something. Not a headspace, per se, but not far off from it either, and he’s floaty, a little to the left of himself. 

Dave is a good guy. He’s soft and kind and fun, and Link wants to wrap up in him and lose himself for a section of time. His limbs feel heavy, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat when Dave turns to look at him. “Shower?” he asks, and Link nods weakly, a sigh of gratitude falling out of his chest. 

Link takes him to the master bathroom, and Dave is kind enough to side-step all of Christy’s things as he strips Link down, gets him under the warm spray, all while Link floats along. It isn’t until Dave’s working shampoo into Link’s scalp, making low sounds in his chest, that Link realizes he’s pressed as closely into Dave as possible, his head on his shoulder, his eyes closed so he doesn’t get soap in them. 

“Sorry,” Link mumbles. 

“We got pretty intense out there,” Dave tells him, keeping his voice low. “Don’t be sorry.” 

So Link isn’t. He stays where he is because it feels nice, and the rest of the night goes similarly, him just a little clingy, even after he finds his footing. Dave lets him, watches him eat, kisses him slow and sweet and careful until Christy gets home and finds them on the couch with Dave’s hand down Link’s pants and his mouth working bruises into his chest. 

She leaves them to it, but not without a remark of, “My turn next,” that Link can’t place as a joke or not. 

And Dave, on his way out the door, tells him, “Make sure you give her one from me, too,” as he’s kissing Link goodbye.  

\-- 

He gets a text a couple weeks later, as he’s cleaning the kitchen, the house quiet as the kids settle into bed. Christy is in the shower, and his phone chimes from where it’s at on the counter, Dave’s name popping up. 

All it says is, “Got you something” with a winking emoji. 

As he’s typing out his reply, a picture comes in, and he immediately scrambles to press the call button. 

“That was fast,” Dave laughs. 

Link’s heart is hammering in his chest because, “You bought me buttplug?” 

There’s an affirming sound, and Dave tells him, “I did. If you’re not into it, let me know now so I can return it.” 

And Link waits a beat, sucks in a sharp breath. Is he into it? His dick sure seems to be, but it’s weird, right, because Link is almost certain he knows where this is going, where Dave is planning on heading with this. So it’s not quite a shock when he hears, “I figured we could fuck around with your thing about being pregnant. Or we could just fuck around.” 

He can hear the smile in Dave’s voice, and a little dumbly, he says, “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Come on, man,” Link says, a little desperately. “Don’t make me say it.” 

“If you can’t even say it, then you’re not getting it,” Dave tells him, firm and sure and nonnegotiable. He always has fun with this game, this teasing, making Link squirm, and this is no exception. 

But this is new. It’s fresh, a new discovery. When Dave had asked if he’d found something new for Link, he wasn’t wrong. The way Link’s stomach had twisted at his words, his mind going a bit fuzzy at the thought, it was  _ entirely  _ new. 

Link knows things about himself, very rarely discovers new stuff that makes him tick, and maybe this has something to do with it being Dave, this slightly older guy with kids and experience and a confidence in himself that exudes off of him in waves. He’s unabashed in everything he does, so maybe that’s what it was, why it sits so precariously on his nerves, raw and delicate. 

But then Dave’s voice is coming through the phone again, low and even, asking Link, “You gonna ask for it?” 

“Please,” Link breathes, knuckles white where he’s gripping onto the counters, and the memory of Dave bending him over right here flashes through him, bright white and so hot his breath catches for just a second. 

Dave chuckles lowly. “ _ Ask _ me for it if you want it so bad.” 

It’s a game, and it’s settling too low in Link’s stomach. Swallowing down the embarrassment, Link finally says, “Want you to knock me up, Dave.” 

“You do, huh?” he asks, the game barreling on. He’s being teased, and he doesn’t care, because it’s sweet and it’s good and it’s heavy. 

And Link says, “Yeah. Yes, please.” The words drip off his tongue before he can stop them, and he regains his composure for a second, so that he can say, “I’d like to-- I wanna fuck around with this, yes.” 

“Cool,” Dave says, and it’s almost out of place, but then he’s saying, “So you’ll wear a plug for me?” 

He’d do anything for Dave. He’d get on his knees and beg, if he asked him to. 

Instead, he says, “Yeah.” 

“Come over next weekend,” Dave says, “and I’ll get you open and plugged and tell you all the dirty ways I wanna put a baby inside you, Link.” 

He’s laughing, just slightly, and Link has to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and will his boner away as Dave ends the call with a sweet, “Night, Link,” that curls around the base of Link’s spine alongside his promises. 

\--

He brings a cake. 

It was a nervous decision, last minute and panicked, and the lady at Ralphs couldn’t understand why he was so insistent on not having anything written on it when it was obviously a birthday cake, what with the balloons and confetti all over it. He’d just wanted to bring something and he spent too long trying to decide what before he realized he was going to be late if he didn’t grab something at that exact second. 

So, cake it was. 

Dave, when he opens the door, doesn’t even try to pretend not to laugh. He does, right in Link’s face, taking the cake from him and leaning in immediately to seal their mouths together between his cackling. It’s contagious, and before he knows it, Link is laughing too, his nerves settling and his brain catching on that this isn’t so serious. 

“What’s the occasion?” Dave asks as he’s digging a fork out of the dishwasher and opening the obnoxious plastic top from the cake. 

“Sex?” 

It draws another laugh from him, and then there’s a forkful of cake being shoved at him, and he’s opening his mouth and being fed once again. Dave watches him chew before he takes a bite of his own. 

He feeds Link another bite, watches, and then takes a bite himself. 

He does this for a while, until they’ve eaten a whole corner, and Link finally asks, “Is this a thing?” 

“Maybe,” Dave says, grinning, taking another bite of cake. He puts the fork on the counter and crowds in close, pressing Link into the counter so that he can press their mouths together in a sticky, sweet kiss. 

It’s good, it always is, and it’s even better when Dave’s hands find their way to his hips, tug him forward just a bit. Something about the way Dave manhandles him sends heat up his spine, has him curling in close for more. And Dave catches on easy, pays attention to how Link melts into the movements, how he hums in the back of his throat at the feeling. 

There’s a beat, and then Dave’s bodily pulling him away from the counter, moving his mouth to Link’s jaw just long enough to ask, “Good?” 

When Link nods, he gets a hand in the hair at the back of Link’s head, fingers burying deep and sure, so that it tugs with any little movement, close to the scalp so it doesn’t hurt to bad, and he  _ knows  _ what he’s doing. With Dave’s mouth on his throat, his hand in his hair, his entire body pressed this close to Link’s, it’s hard to think straight. It’s hard to keep his mouth shut, to bite back the, “God, Dave, just fuck me,” that tumbles out of him. 

Dave hums, the wet press of his tongue to the dip of Link’s jaw hot and sweet, and then he tells Link, “I will. Be good for me.” 

And gosh, that gentle command, how it curls delicately in the base of Link’s stomach, pulls a whine from him, has him nodding, gasping when his hair is pulled. They’re in Dave’s kitchen, and Link wonders if they’ll do this on a bed this time, if they’ll at least make it out of the kitchen, or if this is a thing for Dave. 

Maybe he likes how taboo it feels. Maybe it’s not taboo for him at all. 

But for Link, it adds to the wrongness of it all. 

Dave’s fingers tighten in his hair right as he sinks his teeth in the base of Link’s neck, and Link’s hands fly to Dave’s hips, fingers digging in as the pain from both points meet in the middle and drip down the back of his throat. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, and Dave pulls away after a second, fingers carding through his hair instead, rubbing at his scalp, his tongue pressing an apology into the mark. 

When he pulls away entirely, free hand finding its way into Link’s hair, too, rubbing away the tension there, Dave asks him, “Still gonna let me put a plug in you?” 

Link shivers, his eyes falling shut as he nods his head, licks his lips absentmindedly. He lets out a shaky, “Yes, Dave.” 

In return, he gets a warm, fond chuckle, and a, “Come on, I have us set up in the guest room.” 

And he’s sort of floating along as Dave leads him through the familiar parts of the house, to the bedroom he knows well at this point. Sure enough, Dave’s got a towel, lube, and the buttplug he’d sent Link a picture of set out on the foot of the bed. It feels clinical, almost, but Link doesn’t mind it, really. 

He feels safe, secure, and Dave’s hands are kind when he starts at the drawstrings on Link’s pants. It’s good. It’s nice. 

The supplies are pushed to the side, and Link is helped out of his pants and briefs, and then he’s being told to get on his hands and knees. He’s manhandled again, positioned close to the edge of the bed in a way that’s definitely clinical, a little embarrassing, but Link ignores that feeling. 

Dave’s hands on his skin is relaxing, keeping the contact as they slide down to his ass, and Link finds himself arching into the contact. There’s the low sound of Dave murmuring to Link as he slicks his fingers. He can’t make out words, head too fuzzy to focus on what he’s saying, but the tone of his voice is nice, grounding. 

The first press of his fingers has Link groaning, dropping down to his elbows and letting his head hang between his shoulders. Dave makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, something almost like sympathy, and Link says, “Please, Dave.” 

The words are nearly slurred, and it’s a little off-putting to realize how far into this he is. And Dave presses in with two fingers at once, wet and slow, saying, “Just be good for me, Link.” 

He’s trying, but his nerves are on fire, his body trembling, his cock hanging heavy between his legs and he’s been thinking about this since Dave sent him that fucking picture. He’s been wanting this since that very second, wondering how it was going to happen, what Dave would have planned beyond the little bit he revealed in questions that he very firmly requested Link answer honestly. 

And gosh, he’s-- 

He’s desperate for this by now, especially spread out on the bed with two of Dave’s thick fingers buried inside him. They aren’t moving, just pressed into him, holding him open, but Link can feel Dave moving around behind him. It takes a second before his brain catches up with what’s going on, but when he realizes what Dave’s doing, all he can do is whine, “I’m wet enough, come on.” 

But Dave doesn’t listen, scratches the nails of his free hand down the inside of Link’s thigh, and tells him, “I know what I’m doing.” 

There’s more lube, some of it dripping down his legs, and Link burns hot with shame. It’s gross, being this wet, having Dave’s fingers unmoving inside him. 

He chokes on a sob, rocks his hips back, and Dave tells him, “You know, Link, if you want to have a baby, you have to be patient.” 

It shocks through him, and before he can stop the words from tumbling out of him, he’s whining out a loud, “Just fuck me, please. I need you to fuck me.” 

“I will,” Dave promises again, and this time he moves his fingers, slips them out nearly all the way before pressing back inside. It wrenches a sound from Link, high and loud, and he only barely feels Dave’s mouth on the small of his back before he’s moving again, short, sweet, kind presses of his fingers into Link. “God, Link, look how fucking wet you are for me.” 

And Link  _ gets it _ . 

“You gonna come from just my fingers?” Dave asks. 

He could. He fucking could, but he shakes his head, groans. After a beat, he tells Dave, “Want you to come inside me.” 

“Yeah,” Dave hums, chuckling just a little bit in agreement. “Yeah, baby, I know you do.” His fingers still moving inside Link, he asks, “You want me to fill you up? Get you big and pregnant for everyone to know what we’ve been doing?” 

“Gosh,” Link groans, Dave’s voice settling low in his stomach. 

“Fuck, Link, you’re gonna look so good,” Dave tells him, fingers slipping out before he’s squeezing more lube into him. 

It’s so gross, but Link doesn’t have it in him to care anymore. He hisses when he feels the cold, blunt end of the plug at his hole. Dave’s clean hand finds its way to his lower back to steady him, and he’s being told, “Alright, I’m gonna put it in, okay?” 

Link doesn’t respond, too shivery and on edge to, but he trusts Dave, so he takes in a breath and waits for the pressure. 

It isn’t a big plug, and he’s absolutely sopping wet with lube, so it’s an easy slide in. The adjustment is strange, feeling so full of something as solid and heavy as the metal plug. But it isn’t uncomfortable, and Link trembles and shudders around the feeling, Dave’s hand never moving, a solid sense of comfort for him. 

His head is a little cloudy, focused on touch and sensation and Dave, and so when he’s being moved, encouraged onto his back, legs dangling off the side of the bed, he doesn’t protest any of it. He’d let Dave do whatever he wanted right now, and what he gets is both of Dave’s hands-- one slick and cold-- cradling his belly as Dave hums contentedly. 

“You gonna fuck me?” Link asks, words definitely slurring now, lazy and more difficult than they need to be, but he feels so heavy. 

“Later,” Dave promises. “Right now I’m gonna get you dressed again, and we’re gonna go watch a movie.” 

Link groans pitifully, aching for touch, for anything. The idea of having to sit through a movie this hard, this desperate, has his stomach twisting in knots. 

Even still, he lets Dave clean the lube from his legs with the towel, redress him, and guide him back through the house until they’re on a couch, a movie playing on the obscenely large TV, on his stomach with his head in Dave’s lap, and Dave’s hand down the back of his pants to keep Link close, keep the contact going. 

Link is thankful for it, even if he doesn’t verbalize it. 

He also doesn’t pay attention to a single second of the movie, because he can feel the plug so vividly. 

It’s distracting, even without Dave’s fingers dipping dangerously close every so often. 

But gosh, it’s eve more distracting with Dave’s fingers so close. A couple times, he taps at the base of it, makes a low sound in the back of this throat. 

Link’s still hard, overstimulated and desperate, and every little bit of contact has him clinging that much closer. It’s not easy to make it through the whole movie, and he just barely catches any little bits of the movie Dave chose, more background noise than anything. 

He doesn’t really think Dave is watching any of it, either. Not with how he keeps fiddling with the plug, slipping his hand out of Link’s pants entirely for just a second before dipping back in and toying with the base again. He never gives Link any more than that, just keeps him on edge, hushes him when he asks for more, slips his hand out of his pants when he arches into the contact. 

He treats it as something absent-minded, despite the way Link can see his own cock hard in his pants. But when he reaches over to try and initiate something, fucking  _ anything _ , Dave just pointedly moves his hand. 

Fingers dancing along the base of the plug, Dave tugs at it just a bit, enough for it to start to slip out, before he’s pushing it back into place. And when Link gasps a little too loud, a little too abruptly, he slips it out all the way, a suddenly empty feeling, stark and startling and Link’s fingers dig into Dave’s thigh where they were resting, right next to his head. When Dave pushes the plug back inside of him, Link whines, high and loud and embarrassing. 

“You good?” Dave asks, voice rough. 

Link can only make a breathy sound in response, trying his hardest not to hump down against the couch, wanting so badly to play along with this. But fuck, it’s hard. 

“Come here, baby,” Dave tells him, and Link scrambles to move. 

Dave spreads his legs, pats his thigh so that Link knows what he wants, and when Link’s straddling him, he immediately gets his hands on Link’s ass. His pinkies press at the plug, finding it through clothes and putting just the slightest pressure there. It’s impossibly good, and maybe Link is just desperate for it, but he doesn’t really care, to be honest. He rocks his hips forward and whines again, leans down to press his lips to Dave’s grinning ones. 

He tastes like cigarettes and peppermint and Link can’t get enough of it, slipping his tongue past the seam of Dave’s lips. 

When he pulls away, he gets told, “I want to have a baby, Link.” 

It sends a shiver down his spine, leaves him trembling and curling into Dave, and he’s nodding his head, reaching out to tangle his hands in Dave’s hair, tug him close so he can kiss him again. It’s wet and frantic, and Dave’s hands run up the back of Link’s shirt, hold him close until he’s pressed almost flush to him. This time, when they pull away it’s so that Link can say, “Please fuck me.” 

“Get out of these,” Dave tells him, plucking at Link’s pants as he nods his head and licks his lips, hands moving so that he can get his hair out of his face. 

Getting them down and off means Link has to stand, so he moves quickly, stepping out of them and pushing them to the side, along with his briefs and his shirt for good measure. When he sits back on Dave’s thighs, straddling him carefully so as not to get lube on his jeans, he’s rewarded with a hand at the base of his cock that has him groaning thickly. 

“Gosh,” he murmurs, hands planting on Dave’s solid chest for support. “Come on,” he whines, pleads. 

He isn’t above begging. 

Dave doesn’t make him, though Link wonders if he would, one day. For now, he moves his hand again, reaches up to lick across his palm before he’s getting his fist around Link’s cock and telling him, “Take your plug out for me, baby.” 

Embarrassment flares through him as he reaches behind himself to wrap his fingers around the base of the plug. It earns him a full-bodied shiver from Dave as he slips it out, and Link wants to apologize when he lets it hit the floor, when he surges forward to slot their mouths together desperately, but he can’t find it in himself to get the words out of his throat. Instead, he clings to Dave, his hands on his cheeks as he slips his tongue past his lips, grinds his hips down without worrying what kind of mess he might be making. Vaguely, he realizes Dave’s hands have found their way to Link’s hips, and he’s kneading them absentmindedly.

When they pull apart, it’s so Dave can scoot him back enough to get at his pants, work the button open and the zipper down so that he can wiggle them down around his thighs. Link, knowing how uncomfortable the metal would feel digging into his skin, helps get them further down around Dave’s knees, before he’s sitting back down, straddling him, tugging him close and kissing him wetly again. 

It’s good, it’s nice, but Link feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. He feels like Dave’s been teasing him for a week straight, dragging this on, and  _ god _ , he wants this. So when Dave’s hands move to rest over Link’s flat stomach, saying, “Fuck, you’re gonna get so big, Link. Everyone is gonna know; you won’t be able to hide it,” Link shudders, slips his own hand down to wrap around his cock. Dave chuckles at him, lets him jerk himself off slow and easy while he tugs at his boxer briefs, gets his cock in hand. 

Link watches him lick a stripe down the palm of his hand, wrap it back around himself before he’s telling Link, “Take it easy, okay? I don’t want you to rush and hurt yourself.” 

He’s working almost on autopilot when he nods, lifts himself so Dave can line up his cock to Link’s hole. And gosh--. 

Fuck, he takes his time, but he’s wet. He’s so obscenely slick, and the stretch is there, but not nearly what he’s used to. Panting through it, Link plants his hands on Dave’s shoulders and squeezes, letting him know he’s okay. 

His whole body is trembling by the time he’s completely seated, sweat slipping down his back, his fingers digging into Dave’s skin. And he hears Dave murmuring softly, telling Link that everyone’s going to know they’re fucking, that they’re a thing-- he’s saying that Link’s going to be so fucking pretty, that he won’t be able to keep his hands off of him. 

And Link sucks in a breath, sharp and loud, lets his head fall back just a little bit as he groans, his eyes falling shut. Hands inching their way up to the back of Dave’s head, he licks his lips and asks, “Will you-- I mean, my hips are gonna be so sore from, from how they’ll shift-- you’ll have to be careful when you fuck me.” 

“God,” Dave breathes, and he chuckles just a little. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” And his hands trail up to Link’s chest, squeeze at the little bits of flesh he’s got there. He groans thickly before asking, “How big do you think your tits are gonna get?” 

Link arches into the feeling of it, his words dying on the tip of his tongue. 

And Dave asks again, a little bit teasing, “Huh, Link? How big do you think they’ll get?” He thumbs over Link’s nipples, hissing when Link clenches around him with a gasp. 

“Gosh, Dave, I--” and he chokes on the words, his head falling forward, his chin on his chest. He rocks his hips, hopes that Dave gets the hint, and squeezes his eyes shut when he does. “Probably not very big.” 

Dave’s hips work up against Link’s, his hands trailing down to Link’s thighs for leverage. “Will you wear a bra for me? God, a nice set of panties, too?” 

“Yes,” Link gasps, leaning forward to press their mouths together, get his hands on Dave’s chest. He feels so full like this, angled this way, and it’s so fucking good, sweet and thick and dripping down his spine. He would do anything Dave asked him to, would let Dave do whatever he wanted, and he tells him as much, mouth barely hovering over Dave’s as he does.

A moan tumbles out of Dave, his fingers digging into Link’s thighs as his hips press up a little harder, a little deeper. 

Another particularly hard thrust, and Dave murmurs in Link’s ear, “Gonna look so fucking good with my baby inside you. Nothing but belly, big and pregnant, tits all swollen.” 

“Fuck,” Link whines, hips rocking desperately against Dave’s. He’s been on edge since they started, his cock hard and heavy and wet, and he’s so fucking close. That familiar sweet feeling fluttering around in his stomach, hanging heavy in his bones as Dave keeps fucking into him. 

Every inch of skin that Dave is touching feels tight, and he presses into the feeling. It’s so good, and his words are hanging between them, popping with electricity. 

Link could melt into him, his head a little fuzzy, getting a little lost in everything, and his words are almost slurring when he says, “Fuck, Daddy.” 

The gasp Dave lets out is almost startling, loud and bright, and Link moans thickly when his hips jerk up too much, too fast. His voice is hoarse when he tells Link, “Yeah, baby. Daddy’s gonna fuck you so good, Link. Gonna come inside you, keep you wet all day for me so I can fuck you whenever I want.” 

Link sucks in a sharp breath, sobs, “Please, please. Gosh, want you to-- Dave, I want you to come inside me.” 

“I know, baby,” Dave tells him, pressing his lips to the side of Link’s head, hands still holding onto his thighs almost painfully. They’re both teetering on the edge, not quite ready to end this, and Link can feel how tense he is under his hands. 

“Will you?” Link asks, fingers carding into Dave’s hair. “Gosh, Daddy, will you come inside me?” 

Dave lets out a strangled, “Fuck, Link,” as his hips stutter up, his whole body going tense. Link can feel him trembling underneath him; and he groans thickly, digs bruises into Link’s thighs as he comes. “Fuck.” 

There’s barely a moment, just enough time for Dave to catch his breath, before he’s lifting Link off of him, plopping him down on the couch and apologizing when Link makes a sound of disapproval. But he’s making up for it by immediately sinking two fingers into Link, kneeling on the floor in front of him to spread his legs.

The press of Dave’s mouth to the skin on the inside of his thigh has Link’s hips jerking forward, a gasp falling out of him. His fingers curl up inside of him, pressing just so, and his mouth his slick against Link’s skin. There’s a moment where Link thinks he’s going to have to beg for it, but right as he’s opening his mouth to do so, Dave is humming, using his free hand to guide the head of Link’s cock into his mouth. 

And fuck--

Fuck, but Dave is so fucking good with his mouth. He passes his tongue under the head, sinks down until he’s met with resistance, and he just keeps his mouth there, wet and hot and spit slipping down the sides of Link’s dick as his fingers press up again. 

Dave hums around him,and Link gasps, fingers finding their way into Dave’s hair again. He warns him, “I’m-- Shit, I’m gonna fucking come, Daddy,” words still slurring, too thick and heavy on his tongue, but he doesn’t care. Dave doesn’t seem to, either, with how he moans around Link, a third finger slipping inside him, almost too much. 

When he comes, it’s with another warning, his fingers tightening in Dave’s hair, but Dave bats them away, opens his throat, sinks his mouth further down. And gosh, it’s fucking good, curling low in the base of Link’s spine as Dave’s fingers milk the rest of his orgasm out of him. 

He feels tingly all over, his body going pliant as Dave pulls off with a grin, slipping his fingers out carefully. Both of them are disgusting, but Link doesn’t have the energy to move. Instead, he drifts for a while, turning and stretching his legs out across the couch, only distantly aware that Dave had moved. 

He’s fuzzy still, too, fading in and out of the moment. 

There’s a beat where he panics, realizing that Dave is gone, the room quiet, but it fades after a second, hearing him clattering around in another part of the house. There’s running water, and a metallic sound that Link can’t place. 

He’s okay. 

He’s fucking incredible. 

It’s always strange, feeling  _ this  _ sated after sex. There’s a contentment that he wasn’t expecting, like an itch has finally been scratched, and when Dave comes back with a wet towel in one hand, and the plug, freshly cleaned, in the other, his eyes start to water. 

“Hey, you okay?” Dave asks, kneeling again so that he can place a tentative hand on Link’s stomach. When Link nods, he very kindly says, “I’m gonna need some verbal confirmation if you can.” 

“I’m okay,” Link promises, blinking his tears away. “I’m great.” 

“Okay,” Dave says softly, smiling. He rubs circles into Link’s skin with his thumb while he talks, and it’s soothing, grounding. “I brought a towel to clean you up with. Do you want me to do it, or do you want to do it yourself?” 

Link tosses his arm over his eyes, and groans a little as he stretches out, spreading his legs in hopes that Dave will understand what he’s asking for. The gentle press of the towel to his skin confirms that he does, and Link shudders under his touch. 

Coming down like this is always shaky, leaving him a bit unsteady, and Dave seems to pick up on it, putting his hand on Link’s stomach, just a little bit of contact. It’s grounding, something for Link to grasp onto through the fog, and he tries to remember to thank Dave for it later. 

For now, he focuses on the feeling of being cared for, how careful Dave is being, and he finds himself drifting a bit. 

It isn’t until Dave is maneuvering Link on the couch so that he can slip behind him, pulling him until they’re back-to-chest that Link starts blinking back into reality. He feels a little more focused, and the feeling of Dave’s skin against his own is even better. He’s warm and real and solid, and Link puts his hand on the arm that’s wrapped around his waist just as a way to show that he’s thankful. 

“You’re good?” Dave asks, voice low, murmured into Link’s hair. He nuzzles his face into the crook of Link’s neck. 

Link hums, clears his throat before he says, “Yeah, man. I’m real good.” 

“Do you want to put your plug back in?” 

The words settle low and hot in Link’s belly, and he realizes with a start that, yes, he really, really does. Maybe it’s the tone of Dave’s voice or the fact that he feels so empty after everything they just did, or maybe it’s just because he liked it-- all he knows is he  _ wants _ . 

“Yes, please,” he says. 

His eyes follow Dave’s movements when he reaches across to grab the plug and the lube from the coffee table. It’s almost intimate, going through the motions of lifting Link’s leg to his chest, slicking him up again, and slipping the plug back in. Dave talks to him the whole time, low little things, about how good he felt, how he can’t wait to do it again, how open and wet Link still is. 

And it’s--

Gosh, it’s so fucking nice. It’s warm and sweet and it wraps itself around Link’s spine, dips low in his belly, leaves him full and content. It’s not a surprise to him when his eyes get heavy. 

\--

He wakes up warm. 

Dave has managed to plaster himself across Link’s chest, the two of them having maneuvered in their sleep until Link ended up on his back and Dave ended up sprawled across him. There’s hair everywhere, Dave’s legs entwined with Link’s own, and a beard scratching at his chest.

It isn’t a bad way to wake up, considering. Although, it doesn’t give him a lot of motion, and when he shifts, Dave tightens his hold with a huff. He lets out a groan, releases Link, and starts moving to bunch his hair up and out of his face. When Link snorts at him, he’s greeted with a set of teeth sinking playfully into his side.  

“Sleep well, Princess?” Link teases. 

Dave makes a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat and plants a hand on the back of the couch to help him sit up. “Not with your bony ass digging into me,” he says around a yawn. 

“Whatever, man,” Link laughs, and he stretches without thinking. He’d almost forgotten about the plug, and when it shifts inside him, he hisses out of shock. “Oh, gosh.” 

“Yeah, you forgot about that, didn’t you?” Dave teases. His voice is low and scratchy, and if Link wasn’t still waking up from his nap, he’d slink down between Dave’s legs and see how loud he could get him to be. “Want help taking it out?” 

“Thought I was keeping it in so you could fuck me whenever you wanted,  _ Daddy _ ?” And it’s out of his mouth before he really thinks about it, a chuckle tumbling out with it. 

Dave makes a small sound, stretches his legs out across the couch.  

He reaches over to tug Link to him, slotting their mouths together in a wet, stale-tasting kiss. And when they pull apart, he says, “Link, you and I could get into some real fucked-up shit together, you know that?” 

“I think we might have, already.” 

Dave chuckles. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.” 

And honestly, Link can’t wait.  


End file.
